Kanir at Icedeath Rock

Shuddering, Kanir bowed her head, pulling her hands to her face and blowing a warm breath into her fists.

Ghire gently shoved her, tipping her light frame. “No spelling.”

She sighed, gently turning. “I’m not. I’m trying to warm up.” Kanir pulled her slightly-warmed hands across the front of her shins, attempting friction. “It’s just so cold here.”

“We would be better off back on Mount Rhiip, yes—”

“Or even the Hented Wood.”

He smiled at her. “Yes, even there. But we need help from the Frigid Geists. They have the means of stopping the Oceanic Sirens.” Spiteful merfolk, the Sirens hailed from Gaspar Cove and were currently controlling a monsoon that left Mount Rhiip drenched, almost uninhabitable.

Kanir blew into her hands again as her teeth started to chatter. “It’s getting colder.”

Ghire stood, his wide frame blocking sight of the cave’s entrance. “They’re close.”

Icedeath Rock was similar to Mount Rhiip, Kanir thought, except for the smaller cave network. And the ridiculous ice and snow! Ghire and Kanir were inside a shallow cave by appointment, waiting to meet with an ambassador for the Geists. A torch burned near Kanir but no heat emanated: the frosty air was cruel that way.

A howl slipped through the entrance, making the hairs on Kanir’s neck stand up. She shook a dread feeling away. Ghire said, “Don’t worry. We’ll be away soon, and warm.”

“That’s not why I was shaking.”

He smiled grimly and turned to find a Geist before him.

Kanir jumped, startled, almost touching her furs to the heatless flame on the wall.

Ghire didn’t flinch.

Icedeath Rock was named aptly: its victims were numerous enough to have become a functional society, even in death. Kanir stared at the Geist, never having seen one. It was tall like Ghire but lanky. The flesh was white as bone with black spots of rotted death here and there. The face was memorable. It was long with traces of frozen blood, stains of vomit or spit shining at the corners of the mouth, and empty, hollow eyes.

“Yoooouuuu’ve come faaar,” it said. Kanir wasn’t sure if it was male or female. Clothing was still present to give some dignity, even to the dead.

“I’ve an appointment to meet with Ambassador Wice.”

The Geist nodded once. Flurries broke from the back of its neck as a result. Kanir became distracted with wondering if she might inhale them but quickly refocused on the two people.

“We need assistance. Please.” Ghire wasn’t one for begging; the word was forced out as if he was giving birth to an ox. “The Sirens are flooding Mount Rhiip. We request assistance from the Geists. Putting Gaspar Cove into a freeze will help remind them about respecting the boundaries of Witchwatch.

Wice considered at a seemingly glacial pace. Ghire remained cool under pressure but Kanir grew anxious. She stood, stepping forward. The Geist met her gaze, his death-laden breath catching her off-guard. Reeling back momentarily, she said, “We’ll return the favor. Sir Geist. Or… madam.”

She looked up to Ghire. His eyes said it all: she’d overstepped.

Biting her lip, she withdrew, sitting down. In labored form, the Geist declined, stating offense and that there was nothing that the Fire Drakes of Mount Rhiip could ever provide the Frigid Geists.

With a sigh, Ghire drew the final bit of leverage: a burnstone. The Geist looked both alarmed and curious. “I am not threatening you, Sir Wice.” He cut his eyes at Kanir. “I am offering a gift. The burnstone can help your people. With it, parts of Icedeath Rock can be excavated and explored. You can go where you please, I know, but your possessions from life aren’t always accessible. One of these,” he hefted the beautiful gem, “can be very beneficial.”

The Frigid Geist stared intently at the gem. Kanir thought it was more afraid than anything: one touch and the Geist would meet its second-death. But even Kanir could understand the benefits. She would miss her spelling journals more than anything. But if I’m dead, what do I care? She hoped the Geist didn’t think along those same lines.

He did.

Ghire, with anger, put the burnstone away. Kanir thought about threatening the Geist with it but decided that Ghire was the leader of the Fire Drakes for more diplomatic reasons. The Frigid Geist bid them farewell when a crack of thunder startled all three of them. Moving to the cave’s entrance, Ghire looked outside. Kanir followed. Wice stayed.

“By the Magi above!” He looked back into the cave. Kanir followed his gaze. The Geist looked fearful. The weak torch cast shadows that made him look even more haunting “Listen to the falling rain, listen to it!” said Ghire. Looking back outside, Kanir could see the downpour. “The Sirens have extended their treachery. Sir Geist, please, yours in the only people in all of Witchwatch that can do something!”

Kanir, mustering courage and remembering to breathe through her mouth, stepped to the Geist. “The Geists are not our enemy. The Sirens are not our enemy. But they are increasingly becoming a problem to everyone.” She looked deep into his eyeless sockets and saw more than death and horror: she saw a life. “Please,” she said, touching her hand to his solid, stained face. “Please, for the good of the land. Will you please help us?”

A smile haunted the Geist’s face, sending a warm tingle through Kanir’s body. Wice agreed to help put the Sirens in their place with a spell and a charm. Ghire left the burnstone in the cave, stating that he had promised it if services had been rendered. Exiting the cave and watching the rain beat against Icedeath, Kanir wondered if they should wait until travel might be safer. “Besides, we can get to know the Geist. He seemed… nice.”

Ghire only smiled as they returned to wait out the storm.

Word Count: 987